


Eat

by ByJoveWhatASpend



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types, Raw (2016)
Genre: Cannibalism, Drabble, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-17
Updated: 2018-04-17
Packaged: 2019-04-24 06:12:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14349585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ByJoveWhatASpend/pseuds/ByJoveWhatASpend
Summary: Will is a vegetarian, he always has been. His father brought him up this way and he has no intention to change.





	Eat

Will is a vegetarian, he always has been. His father brought him up this way and he has no intention to change. 

The first time he can remember eating meat was not a pleasant experience. The neighbor kid was poor as he was, and her mother fed them both hot dogs when they came in out of the heat one summer day, their brows shining and their stomachs empty. The casing popped between his teeth and the salted pork was wet and thick and heavy in his stomach. He did not react to it well and Bethany Bradshaw looked at him like he was a freak, whispered behind her hand to the other kids when he walked past and never invited him over again. He had grown up without friends or meat and, after that incident, accepted that he was not the type of person that could have either.

Three decades later and he is greeted by Hannibal Lecter one morning, offering him friendship and a sausage omelette in a wicker basket. Will has to decline them both, though Hannibal is clearly disappointed.

It is some weeks afterwards that he meets Hannibal again, this time for therapy. He feels compelled to describe for him the taste of Abigail Hobbs' blood on his lips and the fact that he still has not forgotten it, the salty and metallic tang of life sliding past his tongue. Hannibal asks if he feels that it perverted his vegetarian principles, if he considers killing the Minnesota Shrike animal cruelty. Will tells him that he has never cared much for the ethics of vegetarianism, only that he was raised this way and that he felt unwell whenever meat has passed his lips.

“Because you hate it?”  
  
“Because I love it, but it makes me sick.”

Hannibal invites him to dinner and makes him a lovely vegetarian meal. He catches Will checking everything in the sauce to be sure it isn't meat. Will is embarrassed but his father taught him to be diligent. His father didn't teach him much, but this  _one_ thing he had driven home.

“My father didn't talk to me much.”

“He didn’t take an interest in your life?”

“He lost his tongue.” Will shifts uncomfortably, popping potato into his mouth and chewing it more quickly than it deserved. “To cancer. Before I was born. Long healed but the speech impediment embarrassed him.”

“A quiet and solitary childhood. Some might say you were lonely.”

“Maybe.”

When Will asks him to feed his dogs during a long day trip Hannibal feels no guilt when he tampers with his kitchen. Blood meal in the chocolate powder, a puree in the pasta sauce, and frozen black bean patties are replaced entirely by Hannibal's own, more balanced mixture. In the end little in the kitchen is left unmolested, but nothing looks changed to Hannibal’s discerning eye. Without knowing what he is eating, Will is going to believe he has a flu or other stomach bug, especially with the temperature he has been running as of late, and will power through the painful stage to letting his body accept what it is given. Hannibal knows that he is doing Will a favour but he will not expect thanks.

Will cancels his next appointment because he is feeling ill. “Not like myself” is what he says, but Hannibal can hear the growl in his stomach and almost feel the hot breath against his ear as he holds the phone lightly, smiling through his teeth. “It’s not a problem Will,” he assure him. “Take care of yourself.”  
  
Will cancels the next appointment too, and this time it is less welcome. “I can’t make it,” he says. 

“Let me take care of you.” Hannibal asks.

“I can’t let you do that.”

“You can. You will.”

He lets him get away with it one more time, but when he doesn't arrive for the third appointment, this time not even calling ahead, Hannibal texts to let him know he is coming. He makes chicken soup. He doesn’t need an excuse.

The dogs crowd around his car when he arrives, loud and dirtier than he is used to seeing them. They are needy and it is a task to get past them and onto the porch. Will answers the door in a delirious haze, holding it close to his body to keep the pack outside. His eyes are clouded and he does not recognize Hannibal for several long moments. “Is that food?” he asks, when the smell has reached him.

“Chicken soup.”

“Come inside.”

He eats it and does not comment on Hannibal’s faux pas. His face is rapturous as he licks the spoon. The black meat is sucked off the bone without prejudice. Hannibal wonders that if he had spooned the silkies head into the bowl, if he might have seen Will pluck the cleaned black skull from his tongue and place it on the counter between them.

“Do you feel sick?” he asks, when the broth is down to the dregs and Will is pressing the spoon against the springy snow fungus, watching it move but making no efforts to eat it.

“No.” he says. His voice is hoarse and his eyes are hunted. “It’s hard to describe.”

Hannibal leans down to take the bowl from him. As their fingers touch Will sways towards him, his nose just barely brushing Hannibal's cheek. He turns his own face towards him and catches Will with his lips. The kiss tastes like salt but they are firm against his own. He enjoys it, along with the heat that Will wears like a shield, hovering inches above his skin and burning Hannibal for daring to touch.

Wills teeth tear into his lower lip and only the ceramic bowl breaking against his head convince him to let go.

Will stays seated at the table and presses a cloth napkin to his temple to stem the blood, while Hannibal steps away, holding his own to his mouth. It stains quickly but the gash itself is not disfiguring when he checks in in the dark window. It will require stitches but he knows it will heal. He explores the cut on this inside with his tongue, the imprint Will’s teeth left as they tried to take a piece of him.

“I’m sorry.” Will’s voice is a moan, misery etched into every angle of his face, the strain of his arm. He licks at his own blood dripping over his lip and does not seem to feel shame in it, his mouth stained red along with the shoulder of his shirt. “I didn’t mean to-- I don't understand why this is happening again, I was so careful..!”  
  
Hannibal pulls his chair away from the table, turning it towards Will and settling down into it, legs crossed and hands upon his knee. Will looks at him like a ghost, and the pain in his lips is intense when he speaks, enough that does not mince his words. “Will. Tell me about your mother.”


End file.
